


Loneliness, Like A Heartbeat

by confettiinmyhair



Series: Rumors [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: (if you squint), Anal Sex, Dreams, Fantasizing, Flirting, Happy Ending, Healthy Polyamory, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Slow Burn, Stress Dreams, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8040568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confettiinmyhair/pseuds/confettiinmyhair
Summary: At the end of the day, there's a fine line between your body needing a stress outlet and the universe giving you a sign that it's time to work through some of your baggage.





	1. Now here you go again...

_He was used to this kind of thing from Jim - being subtly stonewalled when it came to routine exams, when he just needed two damn signatures and to run a tricorder over him._

_This, though?_

_It was like he wasn’t even speaking._

_He’d been standing there for the better part of five minutes, talking directly to Spock, and he was just being… ignored, as the Vulcan sat and kept tapping away at a calibration subroutine._

_He was about ready to start screaming - he glanced around, realizing that everyone else seemed to be blithely oblivious to it all… that nobody else was even speaking to each other._

_As he glanced back to Spock, he saw the change - saw the white-knuckled intensity with which he was grasping the edge of the console._

_“Spock, are you-”_

_“Doctor.” Spock looked up finally, some tight whisper of emotion on his features, a harshness to his breath. “I will happily follow along, if you could possibly be_ silent _for five entire minutes.”_

_He knew this. He knew that strange coil of anger, that microscopic shift in Spock’s mood, remembered it from_

(from Jim, from the fight on the bridge, from all that unspooled aggression bursting open, the twist of a snarl)

 _He could feel his own eyebrows furrowing, could feel the biting retort formulating, and_ -

\- it was dark, and the first thing he saw was the gentle blur of the stars past his viewport.

His jaw was still tight in indignation, his shoulders still tense, and it took him a moment to push himself up and away from his pillow.

Squinting at the clock inset over the side table, he could see that he had all of twenty-eight minutes before he needed to be awake for his shift, anyhow.

His shift that would kick off the first spate of quarterly ship-wide physicals.

“Fine. Fine, god damn it all!” he swore.

He kicked the sheet off and stood, shucked his t-shirt and boxers, and walked over to punch the access to the bathroom -

\- without thinking to check the occupancy, and was greeted by a full back-view of Scotty in the shower.

There was a great deal of shouting in quick succession (“OCUPADO, thanks!” “Aw, FUCK, sorry, lock it next time!” “Three minutes and I’ll be done, fuck’s sake!”), and he ducked back out into the silence of his quarters.

Not that he objected to the view, per se, but the invasion of privacy still made him feel like an asshole, no matter how many jokes Scotty tended to crack about it.

Five and a half minutes later, he was standing under the strange mist of the sonic shower, trying to breathe out his tension.

This was no way to start the morning. None of this had been any way to start the morning.

He was overthinking the dream as he scrubbed the shampoo from his hair, annoyed beyond reason that Spock had the nerve to be contrary in his _subconscious_ , and that he was frankly more upset at the fact that he hadn’t even managed to get a retort in, and -

\- and of course, to top everything off, his cock was starting to twitch with interest at the thought of a proper shouting match with the Vulcan.

He stared blankly at the shower wall for a moment, resigning himself to his fate more than anything else. Bracing one hand against the wall, he reached the other down to wrap around his still-hardening cock.

He didn’t take his time, kept it quick and efficient; he hated himself a little for how much he was relishing this, biting his lip and thinking of nothing so much as Spock pinning him over that console, taking him in harsh, deep thrusts, teeth clenched on his shoulder…

Yeah, okay. Maybe there was something there, something to the idea of forcing an open response out from under that stoic demeanor.

He pressed his lips shut, tight, breathed in deep gasps through his nose as he came, coating his fingers and splashing up against his own stomach.

Okay.

It was weird, yeah, but he couldn’t deny how much calmer he felt as he cleaned himself off, couldn’t deny the looseness in his shoulders.

And yeah, he’d make sure to punch in the self-cleaning protocol when he got out - he may have been a grumpy fuck with some occasionally strange fantasies, but he wasn’t a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to canon blueprints, Bones and Scotty's quarters indeed share an adjoining bathroom; having lived in an adjoining-bathroom sitaution, I'd say this is probably a fairly typical occurrence for them, and the shouting is mostly for sport at this point.


	2. But listen carefully...

_He wondered, in a distant way, when the false lighting in the botany lab had gotten so realistic - not just a wavelength sufficient for the plants, but a true recreation of warm, sluggish sunlight._

_The grass under his feet felt just as real, the smell of the soil beneath it a welcome relief from the sterile, metallic odor of the ship._

_He could get used to this._

_He sat finally, basking in the warmth, listening all the while to the lovely, low drone of Sulu’s voice as he read from the PADD, answering with the common names for the plants that Sulu was naming out in their proper nomenclature._

_“You’re getting better at this,” Sulu finally said, smiling over at him. “Haven’t had to start over once.”_

_That brilliant, warm smile was contagious._

_How many times had they been through it? Suddenly, Bones couldn’t quite remember. Had they ever -_

_He gasped at the touch of Sulu’s hand against his jaw, but pressed into the sensation._

_Yeah, he could get used to -_

\- sniffing awake just as things were getting interesting, apparently.

Christ.

He shifted the PADD from his chest, where it had landed when he dozed off (an overview of cognitive dysfunction among various empathic races from the Beta Quadrant, and the possible use of native fungi in treating them), gaze still fixed to the ceiling as he breathed deeply, trying to hold onto the feeling from his dream.

That way lay madness, and he knew it. It was just - just as much of a stress response as his dream about Spock, if for other reasons.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him, hell, _looked_ at him like that? It was just his mind trying to fulfill a need and painting convenient pictures to go along with it.

He missed it, missed that kind of sweet easiness - he wasn’t above admitting that.

But he was still a mess, and he knew it.

And yet here he was, dopey little grin on his lips, replaying those images, those sensations, and - and okay, maybe he was already half-hard over the thought of a gentle kiss in the afternoon sun.

Maybe it had been a while in every regard.

The chime of his personal comm sounded on the side table, and he ignored it.

He was easing his slacks open, rutting against his own palm at the contact, and -

\- thoughts of the summer, thoughts of being pressed back to the grass by gentle hands, of clothes shoved away and being ridden at a nice, languid pace, Sulu’s voice in his ear as he leaned down over his chest, whispering filthy little endearments -

\- the orgasm was something of a slow wave, the pleasure cresting its way up his spine and a low moan pulling from his throat as he came.

It was a long, lazy pause as he caught his breath before he wriggled out of his ruined underwear and slacks, using the fabric to swipe along his hip, and fell back, peering over to see where he’d left his comm.

 _just off Beta. drinks in 20?_ Scotty had asked some eight minutes prior.

 _Only if you’re buying_ , he tapped out, and hauled himself off of the mattress to find fresh clothes.

*

It was a sharper whiskey than he was used to (“I was owed a favor, and this was sound payment,” Scotty sniffed), but it was a welcome end to the day nonetheless.

“Sorry about the other morning, by the way,” Bones murmured over his glass, midway through the third drink, and Scotty waved it off.

“It’s as I keep saying, you only need ask if you want to join in that badly,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows for effect, and Bones snickered right along with him.

“Oh, please. I'd be a handful, and you know it. And then there's all of the emotional baggage,” he teased back.

“More than a handful, from what I've seen,” Scotty grinned, “but suit yourself. Another?”

“ _Please_ ,” Bones nodded, accepting a healthy refill, settling back into the chair, and gestured at the blueprint still visible on the terminal at the desk. “Now tell me about that, so I can stop worrying about the ship disintegrating.”

“The plasma distribution lines? Oh, that’s just a prototype.”

“It'll put me at ease, and maybe I can stop thinking about intentional fungal infections,” Bones sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Fair on. Alright, here-” Scotty said, snagging a PADD from the shelf next to him to call up a schematic segment, leaning over the table with it.


	3. Play the way you feel it...

_The house had never been this quiet. Aunt Celia was a firm believer in the idea that warm noise kept negative energy, demons, and the devil at bay._

_He might not have believed in any gods, but he sure as hell believed in Aunt Celia not getting in a snit._

_Pausing at the top of the stairs, he strained for a moment to listen for the antique clock in the front room, and decided to just go down and check that it was wound._

_Where was everyone, anyhow?_

_He heard the kitchen door open and detoured, rounding the bottom step and heading back along the hall._

_There was snow clinging to Jim’s boots, and he was stomping it off on the mat, grin wide and cheeks coming up a wind-bitten pink._

_“You wouldn’t_ believe _how it’s kicking up out there,” he huffed, swiping the fat, melting flakes from the shoulders of his coat, and finally going for his bootlaces with his free hand._

_Incredible. Only Jim Kirk would manage bring snow to Decatur and look so thoroughly pleased about it._

_There was nothing but a bright, warm fondness in his chest as he watched Jim cross the kitchen, setting the grocery bag on the counter._

_He turned with curious, furrowing eyebrows as his hand rested on the refrigerator door._

_“Did the clock stop?”_

_“Yeah, I was gonna-”_

_"Why's it ringing, then?"_

_Odd, he hadn't noticed anything_ -

\- He blinked, and again, shifting his legs against the blanket’s soft synthetic fleecing. The familiar lines of his quarters’ ceiling came into view, and he pulled a sharp breath in through his nose.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream, or at least some incredibly similar dreams, though he generally preferred not to dwell on them, nor the little ache they left in their wake, even if it was a pretty thought.

(Sweet Jesus, what a pretty thought.)

His eyes were sliding shut as his comm chimed - likely it had chimed prior and woken him to begin with. The tone was the one indicating Med Bay, though, so he reached for it, hovering his thumb over the indicator for the speaker.

“McCoy, here.”

“Hey, boss. Sorry to wake you.”

He squinted at the device before he answered again.

“Chapel? It’s Gamma shift, right?"

“Dr. M’Benga was under the weather, so I stayed on for him. We’re taking on a transport of Bolian refugees in approximately forty-five minutes, and I was asked to comm you to help oversee their decontamination procedures, sir.”

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Bones nodded before remembering he was only on vocals.

“Right. See you in thirty-five. McCoy out.”

*

He managed a quick shower without incident, but was interrupted in the middle of pulling his slacks on by the sound of his door chime.

He turned slowly, hunched over with his hands full of waistband, the garment barely past his knees.

He could feel the ire rising in his body, and seriously considered allowing them in at that precise moment out of spite.

Instead he finished, pocketed his comm, slipped into his shoes, and crossed the room, the chime ringing twice more in the entire fifteen seconds it took him.

Punching the open-command on the door panel, he was met with a very sudden, _very_ friendly chestful of teetering-drunk Russian.

“Why would you change the code without tell- oh. Hello, Doctor,” Chekov said, as Bones gently disentangled from him. “Are… oh, are _you_ the surprise?”

“I’m going to go ahead and say no," Bones sighed, allowing himself an eye-roll. "Was Commander Scott expecting you?”

“Yes, sir, he is,” was the slow answer from the lovely smile. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

He had to think for a moment, and remembered something about Keenser’s birthday being mentioned in comms.

“Figures. Come on,” Bones sighed, taking Chekov by the elbow as he stepped into the corridor.

Scotty answered his door on the first chime, thankfully more dressed than Bones had been anticipating, glancing between the two of them with a delightedly quirked eyebrow.

“Well, now, I didn’t know it was _my_ birthday as well,” he said, words slurring together rather more freely than usual, and Bones felt himself blush right down to the tops of his shoulders at Scotty's appraising gaze.

“Oh, no,” Bones assured him. “Just found a stray as I was heading out.”

Chekov giggled, stepped between them and into the room, and Scotty glanced at him fondly as he passed.

“Sorry. Sure we can’t offer you a drink for the trouble?”

Bones shook his head.

“Wish I could… rain check, maybe? And you two probably need water more than anything else right now.”

“Hear that, love? Doctor’s orders,” Scotty called over his shoulder. He turned back to McCoy for just a moment, grinning impishly with his hand hovering over the door panel. “If you’ll excuse us, in that case.”

“By all means,” Bones said, huffing a little laugh.

The door whooshed shut, and Bones was left alone in the near-silent corridor... finding himself genuinely wishing for a moment that he _could_ stay.

He briefly let himself entertain a fancy of simply setting up the decon protocols and returning -

No.

He took a deep breath, clenching his hands a few times, and dropped himself into _business mode_ as he turned on his heel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Bones' defense: Keenser's parties always get super out of hand (right now, this moment, Janice Rand is pacing him on shots of something unpronounceable), and Bones had to be up for Alpha shift, or he would've been down there, too.


	4. The stillness of remembering...

_It had been years since he’d volunteered a double shift like this, certainly not since the divorce; he knew for a fact that this couch wouldn't feel quite this perfectly comfortable to anyone who wasn't dead-exhausted._

_He'd spent too many lunch breaks sprawled out on it to think otherwise._

_It was looping back into the early morning hours, and he glanced from the lightening sky outside the break room window to where Scotty stood, scribbling out an equation for (what had he said? photon displacement and energy streamlining? something like that) with one of those squeaky old markers._

_When had they installed an actual whiteboard in here? Did it matter? No, probably not._

_It was really something mesmerizing to watch Scotty work like this, lost in a confusing tumble of physics functions, muttering to himself with the occasional flicker of a smile playing on his lips as though this were the rarest of thrills._

_Red was an unusual color for scrubs, wasn't it?_

_They suited him, though. So did the sunlight spilling in through the window now - it was so different from all the harsh interior lighting he was used to seeing Scotty under._

_Yeah. Suited him._

_He drained his coffee without averting his gaze, and licked his lips, about to ask when Scotty was back on shift, when_ -

\- Bones woke with a sharp gasp, legs tangling in the sheet, eyes flickering from the clock to the stars rushing past the viewport.

He caught his breath, just for a moment, just enough to steady himself, focusing on the soft, ever-present hum of the ship, and -

\- And sweet hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up this hard.

He strayed a hand down to the front of his boxers, groaning a little at how good even the simplest touch felt right now - to say nothing of how damp the fabric was with precome.

This one was weird. This was _so_ fucking weird, but -

He bit his lip as he slid the boxers down and closed his fingers around his cock, stroking firm and slow and letting himself go with it, planting his heels against the mattress and arching into his own grasp.

Fuck. _Fuck_. It hadn't even been explicit, hadn't been _charged_ , but some combination of watching Scotty in his element, and the thought of him in medical gear (in _that_ room, lost in his own quiet delight) -

Well, he wasn't ready to examine that too closely just yet.

Even if he was, apparently, perfectly ready to entertain the idea of Montgomery Scott sucking him off on the ratty old sofa of the fourth-floor break room at Atlanta General, and yeah,  _fuck_ , he was definitely about to come thinking about the guy spreading him out and tonguing his ass.

The sound that pushed out of his mouth surprised him, caught somewhere between a shout and a whine, and he spilled in thick spatters over his stomach and up his chest.

He felt hollowed out - pleasantly so - as he fell back to the mattress completely, basking a little in the blank euphoria.

It took him a few long, silent minutes before he moved to tug his boxers the rest of the way down his legs, using the garment to wipe himself off.

He was sorely tempted to lay back down, to pull the covers back up and curl into a few more hours’ sleep, but he knew it would be fitful at best.

Instead, he found himself getting up, passing his underwear (and the previous day’s clothes) into the laundry chute, and decided to try to get some paperwork done.

*

Jim had asked to debrief about the Bolians personally, which was probably a touch unusual, but if it made sure he was getting his reports done, Bones wasn't about to complain.

Until they were finished, and Jim set his PADD down with pointed intent.

“And what about you?”

Bones all but shrugged into his coffee mug.

“What about me?”

“You look peaky. More tense than usual, which is saying something, and it's not Jo’s birthday for months. So come on.”

For as much of a joking veneer as Jim would always maintain, the concern was genuine. Sighing, Bones set the mug back down and threw his hands up in a shrug.

“Hell, I don't know. I haven't been sleeping. I mean, I have, but not well. I've had a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah? As in, you're finally getting some, or...?” Jim teased, and all he could do was purse his lips for a moment before he answered.

“No. I guess it’s just sinking in… been what. Eight years? I've moved on, I don't mind being alone, but I miss -” he gestured airily, looking for the words. And if he couldn't say it to Jim, who could he? “Maybe it's time to stop using Jocelyn as an excuse.”

Jim nodded slowly, taking that all in.

“Wow. Uh… yeah, that's a little heavy.”

“Ya don't say,” he muttered, toying win the handle of the mug to avoid eye contact.

The silence stretched out, and Jim finally rubbed the back of his neck before he spoke.

“Can I give you some advice you don't want?”

“When the hell have I ever been able to stop you?” Bones smirked, picking the mug back up.

“Whole time I've known you, you've gotten laid what. Six times? _Including_ me?”

“Seven, including you.”

Jim was clearly trying to puzzle out who he'd forgotten; Bones did his best not to look too smug about that.

“Still,” Jim finally offered, “maybe… stop worrying so much about feelings, and go have some fun. Worst that can happen is you end up right back here, right?”

“Interesting point,” Bones said quietly, with a nod. “Out of curiosity, you’re not bitter about that, are you?”

“About what?”

“Us. Whatever… might have happened in another life, I guess.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, huffing out a laugh.

“Wow. Uh, honestly? I love you, man, but we'd kill each other. I'll be happy if you go figure out how to enjoy yourself again.”

Bones laughed.

“‘Figure out’. Y'know, I'll have you know I had to pass on a very enthusiastic offer of a threesome the other night. I'm pretty sure I did, anyhow.”

The regret that he hadn't had his comm out to snap a picture of Jim’s expression was immediate.

“No. Are you serious right now?”

“I am. Not entirely sure if they were, though,” Bones shrugged again. "They were pretty hammered."

“Have you _asked_?”

A raised eyebrow almost felt like enough of an answer, but he still caved.

“Jim, I just spent four days overseeing a quarantine. Precisely _when_ was I supposed to ask?”

“Unbelievable,” Jim sighed, finally managing to pull his jaw shut.

Bones reached across the desk, patting Jim’s forearm heavily for a moment.

“I appreciate the worry. Really. But lemme work through the details in my own time, okay?”

Clearly trying not to burst out laughing, Jim nodded at him. There was so much warmth in that smile - _in another life_ , Bones thought again.

“I get it,” Jim said, eyes narrowing as something seemed to occur to him. “So… are you supposed to be the meat in that sandwich, or what?”

Scoffing fondly, Bones pulled his hand back.

“Cute. You're cute. Am I dismissed, Captain?”

“Yeah, if you wanna be. But only if you pony up details.”

Already standing and rolling his eyes, Bones flipped Jim off over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no Atlanta General. I know this. I just didn't want to try and decide _which_ hospital he might have initially ended up at.
> 
> (And as far as I know, I'm not making up the laundry chutes - that's canon; as much as I might have enjoyed the idea of officer's quarters having a little compact refresher of some kind (because I like the idea of people still having to wash their own clothes), a single massive automated laundry facility makes a lot more sense from a resource standpoint.)


	5. Wrap around your dreams...

_He’d always thought of Andorii as a strangely soothing language, but it was something else listening to Christine and Nyota pass the absolute worst puns back and forth like this._

_They both glanced to him, suddenly, and he shrugged, letting the syllables fall from his mouth in response, and they were all doubling over with laughter, table shaking when Christine’s knee smacked against it._

_He saved his cup from tipping over, took a long drink to finish it off, still giggling as Nyota slipped into Klingon for the sake of calling their waiter back over._

_She rattled off an order for the next round, pausing for Christine to speak, smiling wide at one of the waiter’s suggestions._

_When she gestured to Bones, finally, he was apparently the only one surprised when the words came to him as naturally as English, even as his accent warped around the ends of certain words -_

-The real pity, he thought to himself as he reached to silence his alarm, is that he had no idea what jokes they were telling each other, and probably never would.

*

Slow days in the Med Bay were their own quiet blessing - if only because a day without crisis was a day that Bones could breathe easier about everyone else.

On the other hand, there was only so thorough a job that could be done of taking inventory, catching up on reports, and running as many sterilization procedures on the units as he could manage.

It was 40 minutes to the end of his shift, and he was staring at his comm, thumb hovering a good five centimeters above the input symbol on the screen.

He wasn't agonizing. He was just staring at the words, trying to decide if they felt adequate.

_Drinks tonight, if the rain check stands?_

No. God no, that sounded like something off of a cue card. 

He erased it with a little ‘hrmph’ and tried again.

_You still good for that drink you owe me?_

And why not? Why not let it just be like any other night, and worry about anything _new_ if it got to that?

He sent the message without allowing himself another thought, closed the screen, and set it at the edge of arm’s reach, made to pick up his PADD to double-check the inventory sheet before he submitted it for processing.

Ten minutes passed before the comm chimed, and he had to brace himself before he called the screen up.

_And here I was getting to thinking I'd imagined that. When and where, Doc?_

*

“Solve a mystery for me,” Scotty not-quite-asked sometime around glass #4.

“Okay?”

“‘F you've got a fear of flight, and a fear of the void of space… why d’you keep your viewport active?”

Bones paused a moment and followed Scotty’s gaze to the oblong little window, trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“No motion blur and I’ll know _something’s_ wrong, and I gotta say, I like knowing nothing’s wrong. Kind of like… heh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously for a moment. “Kind of like when you break down how some of the systems work. It's comforting to know how things _won't_ blow up.”

He saw the little pull at the corners of Scotty’s mouth, saw him trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, you find me… comforting?”

Bones did laugh at that, and he answered before he could think.

“Not what I meant, but you know? I guess I do.”

“That's a new one, but I'll take it,” Scotty grinned.

“Maybe you can solve a mystery for me,” Bones said after a moment, grinning right back.

“Oh, can I, now?”

“Maybe. The other night, were you really… I mean, _offering_?” he asked, trying to avoid trite innuendo for once in his life.

Scotty’s expression took a turn for the truly capricious, and there was no mistaking the flicker of his gaze along Bones’ body as he toyed with his glass.

“May _be_. Would you have accepted?”

There was a little thrill behind this, behind finally letting himself slide sideways into the flirtation Scotty was always trying to draw him into - the answer was easier than it should have been.

“I was definitely curious,” he admitted.

“ _Were you_. And are you, still?”

The distance between them - or more specifically, the lack thereof - was acutely obvious in that moment. Their knees had bumped at some point, and… and _christ_ but he had lovely eyes.

“Yeah,” he finally nodded.

They both leaned in too suddenly, at wrong angles - there was a collision of noses, and he took a light smack in the shoulder from Scotty’s elbow…

Bones was chuckling as he blinked away the little shock of it, and Scotty answered in kind as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

They stared each other down for a long, tense moment as the giggles faded, and Bones reached out to draw Scotty back in, more carefully this time.

*

Primarily, it was a great deal of half-drunken fumbling as they dropped onto the bed, and in a strange way, Bones was grateful for that - it kept him from getting too lost in his own head.

It wasn’t rushed, nor a drawn-out tease - just a nice, easy indulgence between two friends who’d polished off a stunning sum-total gallons of hard liquor together over the years, and had already seen each other naked extensively enough that the nudity wasn’t even uncomfortable.

They tugged each other’s clothes away in clumsy fits and starts, and it was astounding how much he’d missed that much, missed the feeling of running his hands over someone else’s skin, missed the feeling of being touched this way.

That much might have been enough, the two of them rutting against each other, the noises they were drawing from each other…

...Until he was on his back, knees spread, groaning around the fingers Scotty was pressing against his lips, and he realized just how much he _wanted_.

As he sucked, Bones dragged his hands down Scotty’s back, caught the band of his already-open slacks and pushed them down with his underwear. He grasped at Scotty’s ass for a moment just for the sake of it, then used his grip to drag him closer down, arching into the contact.

“Oh, is that the ticket, then?” Scotty teased, pressing his fingers the slightest bit further back in Bones’ mouth, pulling them away just before he managed to trigger the gag reflex.

Bones sighed in his throat at the loss, and Scotty quirked an eyebrow at him, dipping down to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Something on your mind, Doc,” he grinned, nipping at the skin, “or should I start taking liberties?”

“Take whatever the hell you want,” Bones muttered, arching against him again and savoring the feeling.

And that was how Bones ended up on his stomach, legs spread and hands clutching in the sheets as Scotty worked him open with (one and then two and then, _yes_ , three) well-lubed fingers. He didn’t need that much prep, really, but it also felt _fucking incredible_ , so he decided to go with it, not bothering to muffle his increasingly enthusiastic little moans as Scotty’s fingertips slid against his prostate.

“More,” he finally breathed, and thought better of his phrasing as he pressed back. “More - fuck, just fuck me. Fill me the fuck up and come in me.”

Scotty chuckled, but he withdrew his fingers carefully without being asked again. Bones peered over his shoulder, watched Scotty working his slicked hand over his own cock (and wasn't that a sight itself, the little parting of his lips, the little tipping-back of his head?).

He moved with it as Scotty’s hands found his hips, pulling him up a little, pulling him back almost-flush... and then it was just one hand on the small of his back as he felt the thick, slow stretch of being breached.

How had he gone so long without this?

He pushed back into the thrust, a groan of his own very nearly matching Scotty’s.

There was no sweet little pause, no moment to catch their breath, just short, deep thrusting as they found something like a rhythm.

He was panting out all manner of needy little noises already when Scotty leaned over him, kissing his shoulder blade before he asked, “This what you need?”

Bones understood the question and shook his head.

“It’s good. So good. But - harder. Hard as you can, maybe.”

The little hitch in Scotty's throat was near-inaudible, but to his credit, he didn't hesitate.

“Filthy thing. You stop me, if it’s too much.”

Well, it wasn’t a patronizing ‘you sure?’, which was a pleasant surprise.  
Bones nodded, felt the little shift as Scotty pulled away and back some, and was almost shocked at the noise he made as Scotty shoved back in.

Maybe there was no such thing as perfect, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been taken like that - deep, rough, hard enough that he could feel the friction of the sheets against his knees, pleasure sparking through him in great, overwhelming rushes.

“Please just - please don’t stop,” he finally managed, reaching a hand down underneath himself.

“This it? This what you fucking wanted, then?” Scotty asked, low and harsh, but no less playful.

Bones could only nod, jacking himself half-frantically, whimpering as he swiped his thumb through the precome leaking at the head.

He was too far gone to think about drawing it out; maybe a dozen thrusts later he was coming over his hand, against his stomach and the bedding, his moans not even resembling words.

He collapsed forward a little, elbow buckling, and felt the tension as Scotty gripped at the skin of his hips, pressed in, deep, deep, deep, one last time, and he bit his lip as Scotty came in him with a growling little shout.

*

They’d tossed the ruined sheet to the floor, and took a long, lazy time catching their breath.

Bones couldn’t decide if it was a surprise that Scotty was a cuddler, but it _was_ a little surprising that he didn’t mind.

Maybe it was because he hadn't felt this utterly wrung-out in almost a decade. He decided to let that thought alone for the time being, though a question he should have asked about an hour prior finally made the leap to his lips.

“Chekov gonna be okay with this?”

Scotty’s little giggle was loud in the stillness of the room.

“Life takes strange routes, but I doubt that’s one you’ll need to fret on.”

“Don't be obtuse.”

Scotty’s lips were pressed to the back of his neck for a moment, and Bones felt the smile on his skin.

“You think he doesn’t know right where I am?”

“Still doesn’t answer the question, actually.”

“‘S’pose not. Alright: his exact words were, ‘Have fun, I’ll see you at lunch, try not to give him embarrassing bruises.’”

If anything, Scotty's try at a Russian accent wasn’t too shabby.

“Fair enough,” he nodded slowly. “You’re gonna have to explain to me how that works, sometime.”

“Sometime. In the meantime...  I think I’d like another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry for how long it took to update - it's been a crazy week!)


	6. When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dream that Bones has in this chapter is mildly graphic in a very vague, nonsexual way.
> 
> There is some mention of 'off-screen' deaths in a different part of this chapter, though not in any way graphic, and not involving any crew members of the Enterprise.

Chekov was engrossed in something on a PADD as he ate, and that gave Bones a moment’s hesitation - interrupting a delicate thought process would be a dick move.

The moment passed as the PADD was set aside, though, and Bones nodded to himself.

“You mind if I sit here?” he asked, quietly. Chekov looked up from his food, blinking slowly for a beat before he smiled.

“Of course, Doctor,” he nodded, gesturing at the seat across from him.

Bones sat, put his tray down, and took another deep breath before he spoke.

On the list of places he’d never expected life to take him, ‘ _breaking the ice with a 23 year old subordinate about their mutual sexual entanglements_ ’ fell somewhere between ‘ _first significant sexual experience was with a Trill_ ’ and ‘ _Starfleet enlistment as a gut reaction to finalizing the divorce_ ’... but he had to make the effort.

“I’m not good at small talk,” he said, plainly. “Especially not when I’m nervous.”

The smile was still tugging at the corners of Chekov’s mouth as he considered that.

“I understand.”

Bones glanced around for a moment, made sure nobody was sitting too close, and dropped his voice anyway.

“Let’s assume we’re speaking freely to each other?” When Chekov nodded again, Bones went on. “This is new for me. Almost all of it. But I gotta know you’re alright with all of this, and hearing it from him and hearing it from you are two different things.”

Chekov quirked an eyebrow, prodding at his food with his fork.

“So you ask almost a month later?” Bones opened his mouth to answer, and Chekov held up a hand, grin never wavering. “It was a joke. Relax, please. Hm. Well, I’m happy. He’s happy. I’m assuming you are happy, even though you worry. Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong.”

“Then I see no problem.”

“You sure? Simple as that?”

“Absolutely. Unless,” Chekov leaned in, smile widening, “you’d like for it to be my problem?”

Crediting himself for not blushing bright red at the suggestion, Bones fidgeted with his silverware for a moment.

“I mean, I’m not saying no. But… maybe give me a little time to catch up?”

Chekov took that in for a moment, clearly satisfied.

“That’s sensible. Yes, you should take as long as you need. In the meantime, you should eat,” he said, gesturing at Bones’ tray and reaching for the PADD, “and you can make small talk with me about capacitor functions.”

Bones paused with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“I don’t know anything about circuitry.”

“Ah,” Chekov said, raising a finger as he called the screen back up, “but you knew enough to say ‘circuitry’, and not just ‘systems’.”

Huffing a laugh out of his nose, he finished his bite with a nod.

“Alright, alright. I’m all ears.”

*

*

_“Isn’t our boy just marvelous?”_

_He nodded at Scotty’s voice, smiling fondly._

_“Yes, he is.”_

_But then he was alone, watching as Pavel stepped more completely into the lighting, a fine figure in crisp surgical whites._

_Pavel circled the floor slowly, hands moving in a sort of restrained gesticulation as he spoke, describing the upcoming procedure in perfect detail as he addressed the gallery._

_He was a fast learner, and had clearly been paying careful attention to the new courses he’d been through; even if he’d never been one for showmanship, Bones couldn’t help the little swell of pride as he listened._

_As Bones made to step aside to give Pavel the floor and let him work, he realized that he couldn’t move, try as he might._

_After several strained attempts, he realized why._

_The restraints had been expertly applied, tight enough and properly anchored to the table as to immobilize him, but not so much that they bit into his skin or interfered with his circulation._

_He looked over to the glass separating them from the gallery, but he couldn’t pick out any one person specifically._

_Pavel had stopped speaking, and was stepping over to him now, rolling a tray of instruments along with him._

_“Are you ready, Doctor?”_

_The panic left him in a slow wave; Pavel’s expression was entirely too kind as he leaned in, tracing his fingers delicately down Bones’ skin._

_“Yes,” Bones managed to whisper._

_“You know what comes next, so just... relax.”_

_He nodded, knew he was in good hands… knew that he was safe here._

_“I trust you.”_

_As Pavel made the first incision, he felt no pain, only a heavy, consuming pleasure. His focus slid back over toward the gallery, and he nodded as his gaze met Scotty’s, saw his hand pressed to the glass, the obvious delight on his features._

_“I trust you,” he whispered again, let himself smile into the feeling as he slipped into a warm fog of satisfaction -_

\- He would take to his grave how right it had felt. He’d take to his grave the fact that he’d woken from it feeling so at peace.

He’d _certainly_ never mention just how easy it was to stay right there, sprawled out on his stomach, flexing his hips to press down to the mattress for the friction, groaning into his fist as he thought again of the tenderness in their expressions more than anything, of the strange intimacy of being willingly pulled apart for an audience.

(It was an amateur metaphor on his mind’s part, maybe, but that changed nothing.)

He wanted that. He wanted whatever was going on with Scotty, but there was ultimately no taking one without the other, and _god_ but he wanted that.

He definitely still wanted to know what Chekov had meant about _making it his problem_.

*

*

Walk into any mess hall on the Academy campus, stand on a chair, and shout the words, “There’s no such thing…”, and the entire room would chorus back, “as a routine mission.”

The number of times you’d hear that from your professors as a freshie made it into something of a longsuffering joke.

There was a second truth about that phrase that he was coming to accept, the longer he spent up in the black: There was no such thing as a routine mission, no matter how many routine missions you'd already been on.

*

Bones had it in him to laugh as the ion storm finally passed and their comms finally whistled to indicate reconnection with the ship, as a relieved murmur passed through everyone gathered in the cave.

“-in. This is Enterprise, calling away team. Come in.”

“Enterprise, this is McCoy. How’re you holding up?”

There was a pause before Uhura spoke again.

“Took a little beating in the storm, but we’re all in one piece. How many to beam up, Doctor?”

“Seventeen survivors, none critical, but still banged up enough to go straight to med bay, and all four members of the away team. We’re holed up in a cave about a mile south of the crash site.”

“Confirms our readings. Ready to begin beam-up at your signal.”

*

As ranking officer on the ground, Bones was the last to beam up.

He’d hesitate to admit to the little pang of relief he felt the instant after he rematerialized, the immediate thought of _home_ as he breathed in the slight tang of ozone in the transporter room.

With a wave to the transport tech, he stepped off the pad and stepped out into the corridor.

He needed to head to the med bay himself - a basic scan was standard procedure - and he needed real food, a shower, and a good night’s sleep.

His comm chimed again, then, back-messages finally streaming to the screen after the disconnection. He barely paused, scrolling through the little snippets.

It didn’t matter that the messages were days belated by now; the others had sent him joking bits of encouragement all through the stranding, apparently, and the sentiment behind it was touching.

 _No such thing as a…_ read a message from Uhura, from the second day, and he whispered the words ‘routine mission’ to himself as he kept scrolling.

 _If you die I still have dibs on your bourbon, right?_ Chapel had said, day three, followed closely by a message from Jim:

_Since when does Chapel have dibs on your stuff?_

_Traffic is hell, be there soon_ , read a caption on a photo from Chekov’s comm, also day three, his expression affectedly annoyed, and he could pick out Jim and Sulu’s equally exasperated faces in the background.

 _trying to boost a comm signal. respond if this works._ , Scotty had sent about fifteen hours prior, and then seven hours prior:

_just hope you’re safe._

He considered for a moment, and responded, _Didn’t work, but thanks for trying. I’m safe._ After a moment’s hesitation, he added, _See you soon?_ before he sent it off.

Before he pocketed the comm, he pulled up his private contact list, and tapped Joanna’s icon.

_Can you believe that ion storms can last FOUR WHOLE DAYS? I hope you have a good day today. Love ya, pumpkin._

It wasn’t much, but he knew how much she liked waking up to his notes.

*

“Bones!”

He’d barely made it out of the med bay; that shout was all the warning he was going to get, and he braced himself for the brief but crushing hug that followed.

“Alright. Alright, let go’a me. I missed you, too.”

Jim pulled away, expression as bright as his tone even if he looked as exhausted as Bones felt.

“What a week, huh?”

“You’re tellin’ me. You still on shift?”

“Mmmm-hmm. But I had to see it with my own eyes. Well, you know. Have to debrief our guests, too.”

“Well, you’ve seen me. Can I go eat?” he nodded, gesturing meaningfully over his shoulder.

“Good deal, good deal. Debrief in the morning, okay?” Jim asked, pointing with both hands as he backed toward med-bay.

“Just make sure there’s coffee.”

*

On the best of days, the replicators were only good for close approximations of most foods.

Today was no exception, but the smell and taste of _actual food_ after four days on reconstituted nutrient powder turned that approximate-beef-stew into the best meal he’d had in months.

“Am I intruding?”

Bones looked up, shaking his head as he finished his mouthful, and Chekov took the seat across from him.

“He asked me to see you once I was off shift… still patching up some secondary systems. How are you feeling?”

Bones shrugged, not having to ask who he meant.

“Well, I probably don’t smell too fresh, but otherwise…” he answered, and let a vague hand gesture finish the thought. 

“So it’s not the soup that stinks like that?” Chekov teased, and Bones slowly eased into an exhausted laugh.

“More like bad eggs, or hot garbage?” he asked, trying to reign himself in and failing - Chekov started gigging along with him after a moment.

“Like very old gym socks. Is... powerful. But for a week in subtropics? Maybe not so bad.”

As their laughter tapered off, Bones sighed, let himself drift into the comfort of over-thinking.

They’d fallen into an easy enough familiarity - dare he say, friendship - over the last few weeks, and he realized with a fond little pang that he’d missed this as much as he’d missed anything else.

“Should I leave you to it, then?”

Bones considered that, biting back an instinctual ‘yes’.

“Actually, I mean - no pressure, but company might be nice. If you can.”

Raising an eyebrow, Pavel nodded.

“I’d be happy to.”

*

It’d taken three rounds with the soap before he considered leaving the shower, and he frankly couldn’t remember toothpaste ever tasting so sharply minty in his life (and he brushed a second time, just for good measure).

He was in a clean t-shirt and shorts when he walked back out into his room.

Pavel had shucked his outer uniform shirt at some point, and he stowed the PADD he'd brought with him as Bones stepped into the bedroom.

They sat and talked on the sofa for quite some time, mostly catching up on what had been happening shipside during his absence.

The storm had been powerful enough that the more practical choice had been to keep the shields raised, find ways to keep them boosted, and weather it out rather than make active attempts to escape it… and it had apparently become a day and a half of report-filing, followed by two and a half of copious amounts of busy-work.

“I should probably be amazed there weren’t more photo-messages, huh?”

“Probably; we were climbing the walls up here, when we weren't keeping systems stable. What was it like down there?”

Bones took a deep breath, steeling himself with a nod before he answered.

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise,” Pavel said, shoulders quirking.

“Well? They were still burying their dead when we showed up. Gallamites, uh… I guess they don’t fuss much about transporting remains, just like to be done with it. We helped out once the storm kicked up, before we found shelter. But they were definitely mourning, and sitting around for four days… I heard a lot of funeral poetry, and I’m just glad they could digest those ration packs. Two of them died while we were waiting, and the rest of them… assured me there was nothing we could’ve done, even if we’d gotten them back to the ship - brain trauma is more or less a death sentence for them. Still tough to see, though.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Pavel said, voice barely shifting the silence that fell over them, “I think it’s good that you’re not numb to it. Death, I mean… even if it comes with your profession.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

The silence dragged out again, and Pavel reached out, gently laying a hand on Bones’ left arm, a few inches above the wrist.

“When was the last time you slept?”

Bones nearly whistled on a sigh, trying to run the math in his head.

“Oh, it’s been a minute. Seventeen hours, I think? Maybe eighteen?”

“Would you like to try to lie down?”

Pavel’s tone was a gentle as his touch, and without condescension.

“Wouldn’t do any good. I had a stim supplement about… maybe an hour before we beamed back,” Bones answered shaking his head.

“Alright, you won’t sleep. But it would be more comfortable, yes?”

It was a fair point; he could feel the exhausted ache settling over him the longer they sat there.

He didn’t argue, but let Pavel pull him up from the sofa, let himself be coaxed onto the mattress and under the covers.

Maybe it had been more than a fair point - the tension was sapping out of him already.

Pavel sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, regarding Bones coolly as he shifted to get comfortable.

“Why are you doing this?” Bones finally asked, and watched the little furrow that formed between Pavel’s eyebrows.

“It feels a little complex. You are important to Scotty, and that is fine - that is _good_. You and I… we are at least friends now, I think. And I’m still curious about you - how did you say it? - catching up. I don't know what to call it.”

Bones considered that for a moment, and reached out with one hand, looping his fingers loosely around Pavel’s wrist, just for the sake of contact.

“If it helps, I think I might be getting there. Dunno how fun I’d be _tonight_ , but I’m getting there.”

Pulling his gaze up from where Bones was touching him, Pavel smiled.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

“Yeah,” Bones nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Alright.” Pavel nodded slightly, and leaned down to press a quick little kiss to Bones' right temple.

He let himself smile at the feeling, and watched as Pavel stood, pulled his uniform pants off, and shot Bones a playful look at he tapped something into his comm.

“Do you think the bed will fit all three of us?”

“Certainly willing to try,” Bones grinned back.

*

They lay perhaps two hand spans apart, facing each other, not quite touching.

Pavel had insinuated himself between Bones and the wall, and they were talking very quietly - about nothing, about everything, about their lives, about life - when Bones heard the little _swish_ of the bathroom door.

(They’d decided a few weeks prior to finally dispense with the lock protocols, all things considered.)

Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled as Scotty stepped into the bedroom, obviously fresh from the shower and dressed in nothing but boxers.

“How the hell are you two still awake? ‘S coming up on gamma shift."

Bones grinned at the affectation of a scolding and reached behind him to heft the bedding up invitingly. He could hear the smile in Pavel’s tone as he answered.

“We were waiting for you.”

Scotty crawled in with a little grunt of relief, and Bones could feel the breath on his skin as Scotty's lips found the side of his neck for a long moment.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Doc," he murmured, running his fingers down past Bones' elbow.

Pavel pressed in close, finally. Bones sighed into all the contact, at the quiet comfort of it all.

He felt their fingers brush together somewhere in the vicinity of his hip and managed to keep from gasping at how it tickled.

That was odd, but good - a strange little reminder that there was a part of this that didn't involve him, but that he was more than welcome to observe.

Figuring out the tangle of legs and arms was a slight challenge, but they finally settled in, and Bones called for the computer to kill the lights.

Nothing was going to happen beyond a few lazy kisses, a few whispered little endearments - they were all too damn tired - but for the first time in a very long while, Bones couldn’t help but feel like he was exactly where he needed to be as he drifted off to sleep, warm and content in the glow from the view port overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section of this chapter takes place approximately one month after chapter 5. The dream takes place perhaps three weeks after that conversation. The third section takes place perhaps four weeks after _that_.
> 
> The Trill I mentioned was an early Dax host named Emony - that relationship is canon, though the precise nature of that relationship was largely extrapolation on my part. (If you've not yet watched DS9, 'Trials and Tribble-ations' is a wonderful place to dip your toes in.)
> 
> *
> 
> Ssssssssssooooooo... this chapter got way out of hand (nearly 3000 words long on its own)... but here we are, at long last.
> 
> Want more Fleetwood Mac-themed space gays, or do you perhaps just want to say hello? 
> 
> You can always find me [here on tumblr](https://hoverboardbandit.tumblr.com).


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